


In Your Eyes, Our Connection

by IndigoDream



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chaos, Episode: s01e05 Bottled Appetites, Established Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26470234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier had been living a happy, unthreatened life, until the Banquet of Cintra. Since then, there have been strain on their relationship, but they stay together, loving on another. When Geralt makes a careless wish born out of anger, there is much that they have to fix and figure out. Yennefer of Vengerberg's help brings out side effects that none of them had anticipated.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 120





	In Your Eyes, Our Connection

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks! I hope you enjoy this short-ish fic!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

It’s so easy, this thing between them. Jaskier loves Geralt the way one breathes: needlessly, without an afterthought, without even really considering it. There is, after all, no other option for him. He loves Geralt, and there is nothing more, nothing less. Morning worships are dedicated to his lover, pressing gentle kisses onto bruised scars and memories of injuries; evening prayers are litanies of his name. Jaskier could write a thousand books to the glory of his witcher, even if Geralt might not let him. It’s easier than breathing, loving him. 

Geralt loves Jaskier the way one’s heart beats: an uncontrollable but steady movement in his chest, sometimes bright and hot, sometimes slow and tender. He isn’t quite as wordy as his lover, but he knows when to say what he needs to say, when to whisper against soft skin that he will be back. He brings gifts, mostly, small tokens of affection; flowers woven into a crown, a cloak which deep blue color reminds him of his lover, a simple silver ring to protect him. Geralt flourishes in the love he is granted, and he isn’t shy to give it back. 

It’s so easy, this thing between them, that somedays they don’t dare give it a name. They are together, committed to one another, their hearts bound to one another, and yet, they keep it silent. They do not say “I love you”, they do not allow themselves to call each other anything beyond “friend”, “witcher”, “bard”. They are quiet in their love, and yet, so loud. 

“He is…” Geralt hesitates with Yennefer, not knowing what words to say. He had just yelled at Jaskier, taking the bickering too far, hurting the man he loves beyond anything in the world. He’ll never forgive himself. 

“A friend?” The sorceress finishes his sentence, looking almost bored with him. 

Geralt doesn’t answer; he looks at Jaskier, at the way he is covered in blood and sweat. The man should look peaceful, Geralt knows what Jaskier looks like in his sleep. He knows the way the man’s nose twitches when he is agitated by a nightmare, the way his eyes will flutter open every few hours or so, unable to keep his restless mind quiet. This Jaskier, immovable and quiet, scares him. 

“Oh,” the sorceress breathes out. “He’s much more than that.” 

And Geralt bristles. “He’s not.” 

“No need to deny it here, witcher,” she says with a shrug. “I won’t judge you. I am sorry though.” 

He doesn’t have time to ask why she would be sorry, because her lips are on his, lighter than a feather, more of a brush than a kiss. He balks away anyway, glaring, at her. 

“Why,” he starts to ask, and then his vision blurs.

He wakes up in a cell with an elf enamoured of the mage, who believes _Geralt_ loves her too, and the panic in his chest is so high at the idea of Jaskier still dying, alone and miserable in Yennefer of Vengerberg’s home. 

Jaskier wakes up in silk sheets, and there is a woman half naked in front of him. He doesn’t look, doesn’t speak, keeps his words close to himself. The last thing he remembers is Geralt holding him tightly as they rode to the mage’s house and swearing to him that they would find a way to heal him. Is this the mage then? 

“Good, you’re awake,” the woman says as she pulls back her clothing on, and relief fills him. “Give your last wish.” 

“My-“ his voice is strangled and hurt, and he flinches. He nearly lost his ability to sing. The thought almost sends him into hysterics. Oh, he and Geralt are going to have _words_ after this. “My last wish?” 

“The Djinn’s last wish,” she snaps, impatient. “Say whatever you want, demand whatever you want!” 

“I don’t want anything,” he says quickly, because he had been joking the previous day, had known that he wouldn’t ever be the one in control of the Djinn. He is just a bard after all, human and fallible. 

“Wish for something,” she snarls, and there is something desperate in her eyes, a folly he has seen in people throughout his travels with Geralt. 

“The Djinn won’t bring you whatever you want,” he says with a sigh, and suddenly there is a knife pressed to his throat. “Look what it did to me, when Geralt was the one wielding it. Do you think Geralt wanted to _kill_ me?” 

She steps back. “Geralt.”

Her purple eyes, full of anger and misunderstanding, settle back on him, and she presses her knife against his throat again. “You lie. You are the one who wields the Djinn.” 

He almost laughs, doesn’t. The knife is dangerously close to cutting into his skin, and he just escaped death and the loss of his voice. It isn’t an experience he is keen on repeating right away. Or ever. 

“I can’t control the Djinn!” He shouts back, panic rising in him when she doesn’t trust him. “I can wish for anything but it won’t work!” 

“Prove it,” she says angrily. “Wish for something, now!” 

“Fine,” he sighs, exasperated. “I wish for this house to crumble down!” 

She looks a bit startled at his wish, and steps back. Her magic is at the ready, waiting for the house to fall down, but nothing happens. The house remains where it is, the walls standing strong, and Yennefer crumbles. 

“No,” she yells, “you have to be the one with the wishes!” 

There is something in her despair that is too acute, too full of a pain that Jaskier knows too well. She is looking for something, and somehow, without knowing what, he took it away from her. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I really am.” 

Yennefer’s eyes are even brighter when she looks at him then, stepping back as she lets the knife fall away from her hand. Her power swirls around her, a wave of beautiful purple light, as she yells. Loud and angry, she looks to be a Fury then, an avenger of the innocents come down to punish wrong doers and carry their souls to be devoured in the pits of hell. 

She yells and the walls of the house tremble. The house feels alive, afraid of whatever it is that they are doing inside, and Jaskier sympathizes. He doesn’t want to be witnessing this either, but he feels rooted in place, incapable of moving, of leaving her to her despair. 

Her knees hit the floor with a thundering sound, the wood bending to acknowledge her fall. The house _is_ alive, Jaskier realizes, responding to Yennefer’s commands without realizing. She is a marvel of magic, a true testament of power, and he wonders who made her this bitter, angry person. He wants to find the person who hurt her, and give them back tenfold the pain they inflicted on her. The pain she is exhibiting, the chaos she is wielding, he knows that it can only come from hands that were supposed to be caring. 

Jaskier lets himself fall to the floor, and he looks into her purple eyes, his hands gently touching her skin. It burns, _she_ burns, and his hands sing in pain, begging for a relief that he won’t allow them right away. Her magic is hurting him as she stares into his blue eyes, surprised at the tenderness of the touch. If Jaskier knows anything beyond music, it is the importance of care for people who have been treated as freaks their whole lives. He has seen it with Geralt, and now he sees it with Yennefer. She might be a powerful mage, but people have been abusing her. She needs caring. 

So he lets her hurt him, lets her magic run through him and burn him. Black veins appear on his hands, and he shakes, but he doesn’t let go of her, and she slowly stops yelling, but the magic doesn’t stop. It spirals around them, a bright fire that devours Jaskier whole. 

“Jaskier!” The door bursts open as Geralt runs in, wide eyed, and he stops in his tracks as he sees the scene in front of him. 

Geralt had thought him dead. He had thought Jaskier gone. He had seen the house shake and he had known he had to run in, even if he would only find a corpse and a witch standing over it. If Jaskier was dead, he had to give him a proper burial at least. Jaskier deserved this much. 

Instead, Jaskier’s blue eyes are glowing, his skin is crackled with black veins, and his hands are holding the witch’s face in a delicate manner. Geralt feels fear rising in him at the sight of his lover in clear pain, but he doesn’t let his fear overrule him; Jaskier looks at him with certitude, with something like devotion and faith. Jaskier looks at him, and begs him not to interrupt. 

Geralt doesn’t. He comes to kneel by them, and he puts his hand over Jaskier’s shoulder, squeezing it slightly. The purple inferno that surrounds Yennefer and Jaskier allows him in, but Yennefer’s magic doesn’t rustle through him, only slightly stinging his fingertips. 

The Djinn is around in the room, trying to enter the purple fire and to attack the three people in there, but Yennefer is keeping him 

Yennefer’s eyes turn to him slowly, two pits of fury directed against him, and her words are snarled, almost swallowed by the echo of the chaos rumbling through the house. 

“Your wish,” she commands. “Make it, and free us all, free the Djinn from your hold. Give it back the liberty you owe it!” 

Geralt freezes then, nearly removes his hand from Jaskier’s shoulder, but Jaskier’s eyes turn to him, glowing and looking at him desperately. He squeezes his lover’s shoulder instead and opens his mouth. He has no idea what to say, what to wish for, but two glowing pairs of eyes are on him. Anger runs through the purple ones, but love and tenderness pulls him to look at the blue ones. He focuses on the love he has for Jaskier, focuses on what he had wanted originally, and then sighs. 

He whispers his wish, and the purple inferno slowly dies down as the Djinn stop trying to attack Yennefer, and escapes. Yennefer falls forward, Jaskier’s arms reaching to catch her, and she sinks her face in his neck, holding onto him tightly. He looks at Geralt, keeping a hand over her head, and extends the other one to his lover. 

The house collapses the second Geralt takes his hand, and there is no time to yell, no time to do anything but for Geralt to throw himself over the two others, trying to shelter them. 

No pain comes. No stone falling down and breaking his back, no wooden pillar splintering and piercing his skin. Geralt frowns, still holding Jaskier and Yennefer, but he peeks over, and he realizes they are outside the house, in the large gardens and surrounded by flowers. 

He moves away from Jaskier and Yennefer, and the sorceress looks around, startled. 

“Did you wish for that?” She looks at him sharply, trying to understand what’s happening. “Was your wish to be out of the house?” 

She moves away from Jaskier, standing more proudly again, all the broken fury and desperate fear hidden behind a wall of strength. Jaskier, for himself, stays on the ground, looking exhausted as he looks at Geralt and Yennefer. 

“No,” Geralt shakes his head, crouches to Jaskier. “Are you alright?” 

Jaskier sighs, extends a hand to Geralt. He is asking for permission to touch him in front of Yennefer, Geralt realizes. He draws the man against his chest, hold him tightly. 

“I have some words to yell at you,” Jaskier sighs and buries his face in his chest. “But for now as long as you hold me, it’ll be fine…” 

“What was your wish then?” Yennefer demands, startling them. “Tell me!” 

“It’s none of your concern,” he snarls back, holds Jaskier closer to him. “You would have killed us all with your uncontrolled magic!” 

“I was controlling it! Had you not unleashed the Djinn in the first place-“ 

“You enchanted me!” 

“You owed me for saving-“ 

“Enough!” Jaskier shouts, and the ground shakes. “Shut up, the both of you, shut up!” 

There is a cry of pain coming from Yennefer as the ground shakes and she looks down at her bleeding hand, where a large cut has appeared. 

It startles Geralt, who lets go of Jaskier, and looks at her. “What did you do,” he accuses her. 

“I did nothing! Your bard did! He used chaos!” 

Jaskier looks confused. “What are you talking about? I don’t have any magic, I’m human!” 

“So am I,” she growls, and she passes a hand over her cut, the wound disappearing in a purple light. “And yet, you don’t see me going around pretending I don’t have chaos!” 

“I don’t,” Jaskier defends himself, trying to stand up but staggering and falling back down.

Geralt catches him, holding him against him. “He doesn’t have any magic,” he tells the sorceress.

“I certainly didn’t bring us here, and it wasn’t your wish either which did that! And he just made the ground shake, did you not feel it?” 

Geralt looks at Jaskier, who only looks more scared and tired. He wraps his arms tighter around him, uncaring that Chiraedan might walk by at any minutes. After all, the house behind them is falling down into more chaos as they speak, the shakes to the ground having threatened the structure even more. 

The witcher doesn’t care about what anyone might think. His lover needs him, and he can’t be away from Jaskier anymore. There had been the whole winter before, and then they hadn’t found each other, and Geralt had been going mad from the lack of sleep. He needs to apologize to Jaskier, needs to beg for forgiveness, and to tell him that he loves him. He hates that he has never told him, hates that there was this hesitation in his chest. It is still present, but he refuses to listen to it. 

Pushing a hand in Jaskier’s hair gently, he lets the bard rest against him. The man isn’t any shorter than him on any usual day, but there is something different about him right now. He is exhausted, more than Geralt has ever seen him, and he looks as if he is on the brink of collapse. 

“This conversation will have to wait,” Geralt snaps and bends down to pick up Jaskier in his arms delicately. “Jaskier needs to rest.” 

“You two aren’t going anywhere,” she states and crosses her arms. “Not until I know why _I_ paid the price for your bard’s use of magic.”

“His name is Jaskier,” Geralt says in a warning tone. “And you will wait.” 

“I’m not scared of you, Geralt of Rivia,” she steps closer. “ _Jaskier_ has chaos that can affect other people without affecting him in any way. I will learn how he did it.” 

Jaskier lets out a tired noise, annoyance clear as he looks between the two of them. “Are you two ever going to stop fighting? I feel as if I’m stuck with two overgrown toddlers.” 

The sorceress looks a bit taken aback at that, but she doesn’t answer to that snap, looking at Geralt instead and tightening the folding of her robe. “Where will you take him?” 

“Nearest inn,” Geralt answers shortly. “I’ve gotta get my horse back and my weapons too.” 

“They’ll both be at the town’s hall. Where you were supposed to be imprisoned,” she adds with a bit of disdain in her voice.

Still, she starts walking towards the entrance of the property, and looks back at him sharply when he doesn’t follow. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” 

— 

Jaskier wakes up to Geralt and Yennefer arguing. _Again_. 

“You two truly can’t stop,” he complains as he sits up, and Geralt is at his side in a minute. 

It’s a bit strange, to be allowed physical affection in front of a woman who is practically a stranger, but Jaskier isn’t about to refuse. He lets himself be drawn against Geralt’s chest and presses a light kiss to the Witcher’s cheek. 

“I feel just fine,” he reassures quietly and then turns to Yennefer. “I didn’t expect you to stick around.” 

“Your chaos affected me,” she states again, like it means anything to him. “How did you do it?” 

“Don’t interrogate him when he just woke up,” Geralt protests. 

“He is fine, he told you so. I’m waiting for an answer before leaving, and he better answer fast if you two want me out of this place.” 

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I’m here, remember? I can speak for myself and I would appreciate if you two remembered that in the future. I told you earlier, I don’t have any magic. I’ve never done anything even remotely close to magic.”

“You did when you transported us from a house falling down on us to the gardens, and when you made the ground shake by yelling.” 

“Are you sure that it wasn’t you who did that?” He shrinks back at her angry look. “Alright, alright, I get it, it wasn’t you. But I’ve truly never done any magic. I didn’t know I had chaos until now.” 

Her eyes narrow as she tries to decide whether or not she trusts his word, and he lets her look at him suspiciously. When she walks closer, he stops Geralt from standing back up and making her walk away with a hand on the knee. He is capable of handling Yennefer; he has done it once, and there is no reason he can’t do it a second time. 

“Would you let me examine you?” She asks this seriously, crossing her arms. “I didn’t see any chaos in you when I examined you two days ago, but clearly you have some now.” 

Geralt tenses and Jaskier squeezes his thigh lightly. “Yes,” he answers the mage. “Examine me all you want. I want to know what’s going on just as much as you do.” 

She looks at Geralt expectantly. When he doesn’t move, his face a blank mask of indifference, she sighs loudly. 

“You can’t be in contact with him while I’m examining him.”

“I’m not leaving him.” 

She rolls her eyes, annoyed. “I didn’t tell you to leave. I’m telling you that if I want to be accurate, you two can’t be touching. I’m assuming this is difficult for the two of you, but please bear with me for ten minutes, at most. After that, you’ll be free to touch each other as much as you want.”

Geralt looks at Jaskier, and the bard nods. He doesn’t know Yennefer well, that much is true, and as far as he knows she might try to hurt him, but he doubts that. She has been hurt too much in the past, he can sense it. There is something about hurt people, something about the way they hold themselves, or maybe the way they look at others… He doesn’t know exactly how to describe it, but he knows them. After all, he has been hurt many times in the past as well. 

With a sigh, Geralt accepts to move back and stands against the wall, looking at Yennefer intently. His golden eyes are focused on her, but every couple of seconds, he flicks to watching Jaskier. It’s sweet, how much he cares, and Jaskier smiles gently. 

“Alright, I’m going to examine you,” Yennefer says, standing next to the bed. “You’re ready for this? You have to let my chaos inside.” 

“Uh, I have no idea how to do that, but I’ll do my best?” He is a bit more hesitant now, but her hand takes hold of his wrist and two of her fingers are over his veins, checking his pulse. “Yennefer?” 

“I need to focus,” she scolds him. “Try and keep quiet.” 

“Yeah, I’ve never been very good at that,” he says nervously and then gulps at the dark look she sends his way. “Alright, shutting up now.” 

Yennefer rolls her eyes slightly but starts examining him, and he can feel her chaos running through him, an almost gentle feeling that has him shivering. It’s pleasant, he realizes after a few seconds, almost like coming home. He has the strange sensation that he knows this feeling, that her chaos is a part of him. 

“No,” Yennefer says after a few seconds. “This isn’t possible.” 

The sorceress sounds a bit shaken up, but Geralt is looking at Jaskier exclusively, worry back in full force in his eyes. He walks back closer and takes hold of Jaskier’s hand as he steps backwards. 

“What is it?” 

“You—“ She doesn’t look astonished anymore, simply furious, and she steps forward again. “How did you do it?” 

“Do what?” Jaskier sits up again, confused. “I haven’t done anything except not dying in the last two days!” 

“You took my chaos! You- You have access to it, you can wield it at your will!” 

“What?” Both Geralt and Jaskier are looking at her now, and she groans in frustration. 

“We are connected, by my chaos! We are sharing it, somehow! How did you do it?” She grabs him by the shoulders and Geralt almost intercedes, but Jaskier shoots him a sharp look. “Tell me how you did it!” 

“I don’t know! When you were… upset by the Djinn, when your chaos was going around madly, I stepped in and tried to help you! That’s the only thing I can remember maybe having this impact!” 

She growls and lets go of him, her fist hitting the wall. “Damn it! I can’t share my chaos with a bard!” 

“I would much rather not have any chaos to share with anyone,” he remarks with a sigh. “Can’t you, I don’t know, take it back?” 

“No. I have no idea how you even managed to bring my chaos into you, so I can’t begin to imagine how to solve this.” 

“I just, I don’t want this either! I don’t know I could even wield chaos, it’s all so…” He makes a few gestures with his hands, and she stares at him flatly. “This is an approximation, alright, I’m not saying all magic users are so flamboyant but it seems very twisty and complicated. I’m just a bard!” 

“Well, you aren’t ‘just a bard’ anymore.” She sighs and leans against the wall. “You have to learn how to use it, in a way that won’t harm either of us.” 

“How to use it? Do you mean… Do you mean I would be able to do the same things as you do?” 

“Theoretically, you should be able to do the same things, yes. Might take a lot of practice though. I didn’t become this good by snapping my fingers.” 

He snorts and smiles a bit. “Right. So what, I need to stay with you to learn how to be… a mage?” 

“Yes.” 

“You can’t!” Geralt is looking at him pleadingly. “We just found each other again, after almost a year of being separated, I can’t leave you behind again…” 

Jaskier’s heart tightens at the very idea. “No, I can’t, you’re right…”

“You have to,” Yennefer insists. “There is no telling how the bond between us will react if we are separated, and how our chaos will affect the other if we wield it. You could seriously injure me, or even yourself, without meaning to. You have to learn how to use your abilities.” 

“I won’t leave Geralt,” Jaskier says, crossing his arms. “So either he stays with us here and you find him jobs around, or you are coming with us on the Path.” 

Yennefer and Geralt both looks at him, and then at each other. They exchange a look full of distrust, and Jaskier sighs a bit. If he has to share something that important with the sorceress, he would rather his lover gets along with her as well. Without Geralt, he isn’t sure he can do this. So he extends a hand and takes Geralt’s in his own, intertwining their fingers. 

“Alright,” Yennefer finally says. “I suppose the Path might be interesting, at the very least.” 

Geralt sighs and Jaskier grins. The future is looking interesting. A witcher, a sorceress, and a bard, all on the Path together… Jaskier can already imagine the ballads that will be sang about them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ii hope yall liked it! Forgive me any typos/etc, I've been busy and it's very late at night s. 
> 
> You can shat me on here with comments & kudos, on tumblr (@saltytransidiot) or on Twitter (SoftWitchering!! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
